


you say jump I say how high

by gloriousmonsters



Category: Scream (Movies)
Genre: Canon Typical Misogyny, Canon-Typical Violence, D/s Vibes, M/M, Pre-Canon, almost pre-slash but it DOES get there, canon typical Stu mooning over how pretty Billy is, canon typical not knowing what being bisexual is, like next-door neighbors with UST, mostly offscreen-ish but just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriousmonsters/pseuds/gloriousmonsters
Summary: Going along with whatever Billy wants starts small, and boy does it get bigger. (Much like other things.)
Relationships: Billy Loomis/Stu Macher
Comments: 16
Kudos: 201
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	you say jump I say how high

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgrrl/gifts).



> Spiritually, this fic is part of a series spanning fandoms that are all titled, 'THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A PWP WHAT HAPPENED'. I wanted to write sex, I really did, but for some reason everything wound up in the tensions and implications are. I hope it's still to your liking! It's definitely got some D/s leanings and pining from Stu's side, because... yeah, the chances are strong Billy's not into this in the same way he is. 
> 
> Side note: You can assume that Roman contacted Billy offscreen if you want, but he didn't come into this fic because... honestly I never liked the 3rd-movie retcon that he suggested they kill Maureen, and trying to work him into the fic would have taken away from the kind of claustrophobic focus I wanted on just the two boys. Hope that's ok!
> 
> Side side note: I listened to the director's commentary of the movie once and the only part I still remember is, during the climax where things are going wrong for the boys, him commenting 'yeah, Stu's starting to realize Billy isn't quite the prince he thought'. Which (a) ouch and (b) I thought about the implication of how Stu viewed Billy previously a LOT while writing.

It's ten on a Saturday and they're all—all as in Stu and Cindy and Billy and Sid and Randy, who Sid pity-invited and Stu is barely tolerating the presence of—getting slightly drunk while watching _Slumber Party Massacre_ in the Macher basement for the lack of anything better to do, when Billy says into a lull between the screams, "So if—if _you_ were going to kill people, if you went psycho—"

Stu can't tell if it's directed at anyone in particular; everyone responds, in their own way. Sid, who'd voted against _Slumber Party Massacre_ and been outvoted, rolls her eyes, says, "Why would I want to participate in the most boring horror role ever?". Randy looks like he's constructing a twenty-step plan in his head. Cindy giggles, says, "That's _sick_. I'd probably, like, use a lawnmower or something."

Stu, disappointed, says, "Babe, how are you gonna kill people with a lawnmower?" 

"There's blades and—come on, you're just jealous because I thought of something unique."

Billy meets Stu's eyes and shakes his head no. Stu understands this to indicate the prior existence of a lawnmower-murder movie, but for once he doesn't take the chance to point out to Cindy she's wrong about something. He wants to get his word in before another half-naked chick bites the dust and everyone forgets about the question. "I'd just use a gun, take 'em out from a distance. If you're a good shot nobody even sees you, right?"

Billy nods, but his mouth turns slightly in a frown. "Sure, but who makes a horror movie about some guy just sniping people?"

"Hunting knife, then. Dad taught me how to gut a deer once. I'd take pretty girls out to the forest, do a little Most Dangerous Game—" He grabs Cindy's waist, rakes his hand up, pressing a line into her stomach that hikes her shirt up to the bottom of her pink-lace bra. " _Ssshk_. Hikers come along in the morning, oh, no, how'd all these intestines get here—"

"God, Stu, don't be a creep," Cindy says, swatting his hand away. "We're talking about horror movies, not true-crime shit."

The sharpness in her voice probably means he's not getting any tonight, but he honest-to-God gets distracted by the look in Billy's eyes. He's staring at Stu over the top of Sid's head, and it's kind of—speculative, kind of like Randy's twenty-step-murder-plan look but more direct. More real. And pointed in Stu's direction, which makes his stomach tighten in an odd way. 

"I'd—" Randy says, but then breaks off, distracted by something on the screen. "Oh, come on, you know you're gonna get killed if you do that—"

"Randy, they're never going to listen to you," Sid says. "You should just resign yourself."

They keep talking but Stu's more interested in Billy, in the way he's looking. He raises one shoulder in a shrug, a silent _what_ , and Billy abruptly looks away. 

He doesn't talk again until the end of the night, after Sid's mom has picked her up and Cindy's fulfilled Stu's earlier prophecy by giving an icy goodnight and heading off home, and Randy's been kicked out to return to whatever cave of VHS tapes he sleeps in at night; Billy's the last to go, and as he's pulling on his jacket he says, "If I killed someone, a knife seems good. You can't beat the classics."

"Amen to that." And as sometimes happens Stu's mouth keeps running, spilling out words before he really thinks them over. "Can you imagine really murdering someone, though? Like, slashing them up? Everyone would be looking for like, an escaped lunatic and not a couple of rich high school kids. It'd be the perfect crime."

It's a joke. He thinks. But Billy stops, and gives him that focused calculating look again, and Stu feels suddenly cold. Then electrified, finger-in-a-light-socket sharp, like if Billy says the right thing right now he's gonna blow. 

"Yeah," Billy says, and smiles that slow half-wrong smile that makes half the girls in school go wet in their panties. If Stu's not lying, it makes him a little metaphorically wet in his panties as well. "The perfect crime."

Then he adds, soft and casual, "Get me a beer for the road, huh?"

It's more the kind of thing you say to girls—the intonation of it, the delegating a task even though the minifridge is like, three yards away—and if it were anyone else, if it was any other night, if someone was watching, Stu would've laughed and said _man, fuck you, what the fuck? Get it yourself_ , but instead he finds himself taking a step back and getting one out and handing it over. Billy looks at it a second before he takes it, like he can't quite believe Stu did that. 

The feeling's mutual. But it feels, in a weird way—right. Balanced, like Stu's supposed to be able to give Billy what he asks for. 

"Don't drink and drive," he says in a principal-PSA-y voice, trying to make it kind of a joke. It falls flat and weak, but Billy still smiles. 

"I'm walking," he says. "It's not far." His fingers brush Stu's for just a second, feverish hot against the chill of the bottle, as he takes it. 

And he leaves, and he leaves Stu feeling like something's started rolling down a hill; like this is the opening moment in an unwinding reel of celluloid. Like things are set from here. 

* * *

A week later and Stu should have forgotten all about the exchange, but it's still fresh in his mind when he and Billy go out to the stretch of trashy undeveloped land by the highway so Stu can try and teach him how to shoot things again. 

They've gone out alone together like this maybe three or four times; it wasn't something that happened before Billy's mom took off. They'd been casually close, with parents that knew each other, but after Mrs. Loomis split Stu had been moved to close the distance a little. He'd always liked Billy; secretly thought he was cooler than anyone else in the school, without even trying, although he sure as fuck knew to never admit to that. Didn't want his dad getting that 'do I have to disown you' look in his eye again. 

It wasn't like he was gay. He'd definitely screwed enough girls to prove that. But jesus, come on, there were some guys you just couldn't avoid noticing they were hot; like how girls, when you got them drunk enough, would admit they'd go lesbo for their favorite actress. That was Stu's thing. There were like three, maybe four guys he'd consider getting kind of homo for, and that was it. 

He kept his mouth shut because more than not wanting his dad to get 'concerned' about him again, he sure as fuck didn't want his dad knowing Billy was on that list. That'd put an end to little outings like this, one way or another. 

Up until recently, he'd been sure he didn't want Billy knowing Billy was on that list.

So there it was; he'd taken Billy out here first partly because he wanted to take Billy's mind off his absent mom, and partly because he wanted to see Billy's hands on a gun. And even if Billy couldn't hit a target at distance yet—not really his fault, he wasn't raised with weapons like Stu was, his dad was the kind of guy Stu's father looked at with zero respect when his back was turned—he'd known how to handle the gun from moment one, holding it with casual interest, like he wasn't scared of how dangerous it was. They'd have gotten farther in the lessons, if Stu was being honest, if he wasn't so shy about correcting Billy's technique. He more wanted to watch him than give him directions. 

So he didn't protest when Billy, after trying a couple shots, snorted in frustration and passed the gun back. "How about this," he said. "I say the target, you shoot the fucking thing."

That was fine by Stu. 

Billy named the broken TV on the other side of the field; Stu put a bullet in it. Billy laughed, said "Jesus, you make me look pathetic."

"It's all just practice, man."

"You should show me that stuff with a hunting knife sometime. Bet I could pick that up quicker."

Something kindles, uncomfortable and hot, at the idea of Billy holding a knife. "Uh, yeah. We'd have to wait, though, my family doesn't take those hunting trips so much anymore."

Billy says, not looking at him, "Ah, we could probably find something to practice on."

There's a moment of silence. Billy says, "Branch on that dead piece of tree. You see it?"

"I see it." He clips it, but it's enough to draw an admiring whistle. 

Billy pushes his hair back from his eyes, squints against the sun. He says, "What if we really did it, man? Killed someone."

Stu's always known he was kind of fucked up, mentally, but he's honestly a bit surprised at how calm he feels, hearing that. It doesn't feel real; it feels like hearing your first girlfriend say, "Let's make out and see where it goes." Excited hope without real anticipation. 

Stu says, "Dunno, man. Who would you even wanna kill?"

Billy's quiet for a moment. "Fuck, man, who needs a reason? Reasons ruin everything. Look at _Halloween 2_ , that crap about Michael suddenly being related to Laurie."

"Sid liked that twist." 

Billy makes an ugly sound, one Stu can't quite identify. Maybe a laugh. "I'm not talking to her, man. I'm talking to you."

Stu feels something just—flip at those words, at how Billy looks right at him, finally, when he says them. Maybe he's going loco, maybe he's just reading too much into it, but he could swear Billy's giving him the exact same intense, come-on look he gives to Sid when he wants her to agree to something. It's. Well, it's kind of hot.

He should be more concerned about the murder thing. He knows that. But when he shrugs and says, "Fuck, let's do it, baby," the only thing he's really afraid of is that Billy will pull back, or laugh, say he was just fucking around. 

But he doesn't do either. Just nods, smiles a little bit. 

Says, "I got somebody in mind."

* * *

The moment Billy starts talking about it, Stu realizes that he had to have been planning this for a while. Billy already has details in mind; to do it during a couple days his dad would be out of town, so they could retreat to his house in relative safety to wash off and dispose of the evidence. There's a guy he thinks they can frame. He's noticed the back door lock sticking and jamming on the Prescott house recently; a way to get in. He's practically got Mr. Prescott's work schedule for the next half-year memorized. 

The funny thing is, Stu's both disappointed and relieved that it's not Sid. He kind of figured it would be Sid, you know, since she and Billy have seemed a bit tense lately, and she's smaller and easier to take down, easier to get alone. When he points that out, Billy looks at him like he's stupid. 

"I'm her boyfriend," he says. "I'd be the first suspect if we did that, dumbass."

So Maureen Prescott it is. 

Stu feels weird about it; not bad, exactly, not scared, just weird, because he's sort of known Mrs. Prescott since he was a kid. She's like—like a schoolteacher, almost, someone who seemed so impossibly adult you can't really see her as a person. But he guesses if you look closely, she is a person. A woman who dyes her grey hairs and smooths out her wrinkles with makeup, who kind of looks like an actress if you squint. Not just Sid's weird mom who sometimes drinks during the day and alternates between forgetting that Sid exists and mothering her so hard that she starts to look panicked. _Starring Maureen Prescott_ , he says in his head, _as the First Victim_. He picks out the hunting knife; no gun this time, the houses are too close together. They can't make too much noise. 

Billy's more excited about the actual killing than he is, he thinks. Stu would tease him about it if all the material he can think of about moms wouldn't hit too close to home. 

The mechanics are the hard part; afternoons they pretend to be watching a film or talking sports when they're actually mapping out details, trying to figure out what could go wrong. What to do with the murder weapon. How to make their alibis sound convincing, when they're the only people covering for each other. How to make it look like one guy, not two.

"Most importantly," Billy says, once or twice or a hundred times, "is that you listen to me, OK? I need you to stick to the plan." By that, Stu's already figured out, he means do what I tell you to do. 

"Count on me, baby," Stu says. "You say jump, I say how high."

Sometimes it itches, Billy treating him like he's too dumb to get through the plan on his own. But more often it's exciting, in a weird way—thinking about Billy calling the shots. Stu doing the grunt work as Billy watches. Handing him the knife at the right moment. Watching as Billy puts all the details of gutting Stu's explained to him into practical use at last. 

It makes him a little bit hard, if he's being honest. More than a little bit. He used to think that horror movies were just a turn-on because of the hot half-naked chicks, but now he's starting to wonder if it was about the blood. About Billy's eyes fixed intently on the screen, like he was figuring out how to do it himself. 

* * *

So they kill her. 

It's an adrenaline high like Stu could never have anticipated, one that makes the actual events blur together. There are just snapshot images, stills from a homegrown horror movie, flickering across his eyes when he closes them. Cotton leaving the house, clearly drunk, clearly with his brains fucked out, Billy elbowing Stu in triumph because yeah, Stu didn't think that Sid's mom was _that_ much of a slut, so now he owes Billy five dollars. Billy, working on jimmying the back door open, commenting in a whisper, "Sid shouldn't be home tonight but come on, she doesn't even have the decency to do it at a fucking motel—" 

Maureen's Prescott's hand draped over the back of the couch, her alcohol-buzzed voice. He can't remember what she said. The cheap mask they'd bought just in case slipping on the sweat on his face; his gloved hands pinning the woman to the ground, forcing her mouth shut. The _zzt_ behind him of Billy pulling open the roll of duct tape.

Billy's hands on the knife. The blood, wet and impossibly red, like nothing captured on a movie screen. 

Billy wipes his hair out of his eyes and leaves a smear of red on his forehead, and his eyes are bright and wild, and it's so picture perfect that Stu knows he will remember that, that precisely, for the rest of his goddamn life. 

They only screw up a little on the landing; Stu goes out in two sweaters to pad his shoulders, wearing the coat Cotton so thoughtfully forgot, so that somebody can glimpse him in the half-light of the long drive, just out of the range of the streetlights. And suddenly there's Sid coming up the drive, Sid who wasn't supposed to be home—later they'll find out that she called for something, that when Maureen didn't answer she got freaked and went to check on her, she'll sob that whole story out into Billy's front, but for the moment Stu is just panicking she might recognize him. He cuts and runs, hisses a warning to Billy who's already almost at the back door, and they barely make it to Billy's house by the time distant sirens start up. 

Billy's panting raggedly and Stu's laughing, can't stop. He already ditched the jacket in the bushes a little way from Cotton's place; now he struggles out of the two sweaters, still hiccuping with laughter. He feels bizarre, unanchored. Really fucking good. Kind of bad, too. His brain's on a see-saw that's going up and down, but he can still remember the plan. He pokes Billy's shoulder. "Gotta—gotta get cleaned up, man."

"Right," Billy says. He looks bright and unfocused, like he's had a religious experience or maybe he's going to throw up. "Yeah."

Stu's only kind of annoyed that he's spaced out; this is all a little real for him, too, and Billy's been amazing with organizing everything up to this moment. Stu can carry a bit of that weight right now. He checks the sweaters for bloodstains, crams them in the laundry hamper, wipes off the knife and puts it back with his dad's stuff. He can wash it more carefully tomorrow; the cops aren't gonna be looking at them closely enough to check the knives tonight. They might never do it. Stu feels another giggle rising in his throat at the thought. That the cops were gonna look at the horror show Billy and Stu had made, the blood and the guts and everything, and think, what kind of deranged psycho did this, be looking around for some single crazy motherfucker like Michael Myers or something when it was really the two of them and a knife and some hard work, plus a little bit of faith and trust and pixie dust—

Blood's still clinging to his arms, dry little patches of it, and there's the stuff on Billy's face. "Bathroom, man," he says, coming back to Billy, who's moving slow still like he's in a dream. "Gotta clean up."

Billy blinks, seems to focus in and see him. "Right."

The blood on Billy's forehead has turned dry and brown. He wipes it off, then dunks his head in the sink to wash the front strands of his hair. Stu watches him, wiping off the few bits that have clung to his arms. 

"Suits you, man," says Stu, trying to lighten the mood a bit, trying to keep down a little of that sick seesaw feeling inside him. "You should get bloodstained more."

"Aw, you're too sweet." There's a little bit of the normal acid in Billy's voice; Stu grins.

"You know I mean it, baby. We should mix up a big bucket, a la Carrie, just dump it on ya. Look of the season right there." 

"You are a _freak_." Billy says, and it's nothing Stu hasn't heard before, but it's the first time he's heard it said with such deliberate fondness. 

"Come on, we're both freaks. I mean—" Stu spreads his hands wide, adds a little sing-song as he indicates the fact they're both washing blood off. "Don't think you can really argue at this point."

Billy dips low over the sink and makes a kind of coughing noise that makes Stu concerned that he's going to throw up, but when he comes up he's smiling. It was a laugh, apparently. His smile, his hair still dripping wet from rinsing out the congealed blood, is kind of distracting Stu from anything else. 

"Well," he says, and he sounds kind of deliberate and sardonic, almost like the first night he'd asked, if you were going to kill people—"that was good for me, baby. Was it good for you?"

He still can't remember half of it, but that doesn't stop him from laughing. "Fuck yeah it was. You even gotta ask?"

Billy says, really soft now, not looking at him, "Would you do it again?"

"What?"

He doesn't mean to sound so surprised; it's just that the night's barely over, they've still got to lie to the police—but of course Billy is already thinking ahead to the next thing. Jesus, his brain works crazy fast. And as he starts talking, Stu starts catching up.

"I was just thinking, as we did it," Billy said slowly, "that this is gonna make people go crazy, but it's just one murder. They're gonna pin it on Cotton, then they're gonna wrap it up and put it away—"

"Try and forget about it," Stu finishes. "Right, I get you."

He can make out the shape of it. Plenty of horror movies start like this—he'd thought they were over the climax, that they were in the endgame, but looking at it from a certain angle they were pre-credits. The first kill, or the one that started everything off in the past. No good horror movie left off with one kill. No famous serial killer, either. Not that he really wanted to be famous, since being famous meant getting—well, caught. 

If they do it again, they might get caught. Chances get worse with every time you test your luck, he knows that. 

Billy seems to sense that he's hesitating. He straightens up, eyes bright and focused through his wet hair as he turns to Stu. "You don't have to answer right now," he says. "But think about it. This—this was good. But it just feels like a start, you know? It's not enough. We have to go bigger."

Not enough for who, Stu almost asks, but he's just smart enough to keep his mouth shut on that. Instead he shrugs, says, "Fuck it," again. Because if he puts it off, he knows he's just putting off the inevitable yes, because honestly if Billy asks him for something—"Fuck it, man, let's do it. I'm down for some more killing."

Billy brightens up like he's just heard a girl agree to take her shirt off and damn, Stu did not need to have sex-related thoughts right now but they're happening. They are so happening. And maybe he's more crazy than even what they just did would suggest, because he could swear that Billy is maybe sending him some signals right now. Signals that are not altogether negative. 

Besides, he can't help thinking, sharing the secret of a murder between them might make Billy less likely to cut him off, even if he wasn't expecting this.

At first when Stu kisses him Billy stiffens, puts a hand against his chest, and Stu's more honest-to-God scared than he was at any other time tonight, other than coming out and seeing Sid with her dark head bowed coming up the drive; but Billy doesn't ask what he's doing, doesn't really push him away, just looks up at him with feverishly bright eyes and says, "I'm not gonna break my fucking neck craning up to you. Get on your knees."

Stu says, "Shit. Okay. Yes," because there doesn't seem to be anything else to say. 

* * *

The cops don't show up, which is good both because it means they've latched onto the false trail and because if anyone had interrupted them, Stu might have tried to kill them too. Sid calls, though, afterward when they're lying bone-deep exhausted on the sofa, incoherent with tears. Stu turns down the movie they're not really watching anyway, that he guesses Billy just put on so they won't have to talk about what just happened, and listens to Sid's hitching voice—too faint to make out the words—and Billy's act on the other end. _Calm down. What's going on?_ A caught breath, a horrified exhale. Stu gives Billy a thumbs-up for the performance, and Billy glares at him and motions quiet, which is stupid since it's not like Stu was saying anything. He keeps quiet, though, and just runs his tongue over his teeth, tasting how weirdly clean his mouth is. He'd rinsed it twice, with water and then with mouthwash, because as it turns out spunk tastes kind of bitter. It's almost made him sympathetic to how often Cindy downright refused to blow him.

He'd do it again, though. In a fucking heartbeat. 

The intensity of the feeling is almost scary, like the slow build before the drop on a rollercoaster. Watching Billy furrow his brow, playing concerned boyfriend, promising to come support her at the police station, only intensifies his feelings of this is not gonna end well. Cause maybe being a little bit homo for your best friend, that was okay, but this... this was something else. 

He doesn't even hate Sid, kind of likes her if anything, but right now—right now he wants to kill her way more than he wanted to kill Maureen Prescott. 

When Billy hangs up, he says, "I gotta go."

Stu says, "Not even flowers? Mom was right, screw on the first date and nobody will respect you."

Billy almost throws the phone at him, but picks up a throw pillow and chucks it instead. It lifts a little of the strange, heavy mood, but the remnants of it cluster at the back of Stu's throat, twist around in his stomach. 

"We'll talk tomorrow," Billy says. "Tonight, go hang out with your girlfriend or something. Act normal."

Cindy's barely his girlfriend anymore—in fact, she's probably gonna break up with him soon. Stu couldn't care less. There's just one thing he needs, before Billy goes. Something a lot more fucking concrete than flowers. "Next time round," he says, pushing himself upright on the couch. "I'm thinking we need to frame somebody connected, yeah? Like Sid's dad or something."

Billy pauses, forehead wrinkling. "Yeah, that—that makes sense. That's actually a good idea." 

"Don't sound so shocked, man. I've got loads of good ideas. Like this one: He goes crazy with how much his daughter reminds him of his dead wife, so he chops up her and all her friends."

Billy turns and looks at him for a moment. Stu can't quite get what the look is but for once he just stares back, deliberately anticipatory, _come on, whaddaya think?_

Because he wants—maybe sort of needs to know that Billy isn't going to be ditching him for his girlfriend next time around. They've got a connection, Stu's starting to really admit that to himself. He wants to know Billy sees it too.

He almost expects Billy to say forget it, but instead he says, "All her friends? That would include us, genius."

"Everyone but us," Stu says. "We'd be the sole survivors, baby."

"Not a sole survivor if it's two people."

"You get what I mean. Everyone but us."

There's a silence. Then Billy says, "It could work." And he's got that look in his eye again, that planning look that makes Stu get a bit hot under the collar. "If—I gotta go, but we'll talk about it soon. It could work," he repeats. 

And hey, maybe they're not the three little words most people dream about, but they're the three Stu's happy to settle for. 


End file.
